


like a comet (pulled from orbit)

by RocksCanFly



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Companionable Snark, Crack Treated Seriously, Dom/sub Undertones, Doomed Relationship, M/M, Post-Omnic Crisis, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Size Difference, Slow Burn, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-21 13:56:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13742382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocksCanFly/pseuds/RocksCanFly
Summary: The most important things to remember are that you must be who you are, and that people love each other for many reasons, not all of them good.





	1. Force Meet Object

**Author's Note:**

> An expansion on a WIP I posted to tumblr in (fuck me) July 2017. It...grew like a monster that is now beyond my control. 
> 
> Shoutout to Doomcio flagship commander and all around awesome person bluebells (bellysblue.tumblr.com) for being an amazing beta and pushing me to finally finish the first chunk of this thing. 
> 
> This fic took...a lot. So I hope you all enjoy it it, and I ask your patience in getting the next chapter up because I am *slow*.

 

Akande Ogundimu considered himself a man of action and power. A showman--one to be watched, not one to watch others.

And yet here he found himself, towering over a crowd at Rio de Janeiro's Fundição Progresso amphitheatre, awaiting the main act of the night’s concert. He could not fathom why his mentor had sent him on this particular assignment.

_“My organization is in need of allies,” Akinjide Adeyemi said, pushing Akande a thin manila folder across the mahogany surface of the private booth’s table. “While your martial arts career has done well to convince them of your physical prowess, they need to be sure of your other competencies before they will allow me to bring you in.”_

_Akande flipped the folder open, brow raising at the picture of his target. It was a young man--twenty six, if the included biography was to be believed--smiling cheerfully at the camera while spinning disks on a turntable. Kind eyes shone out behind a green visor, and his neat dreads pulled up high in a ponytail were frozen mid swing, suggesting a sense of motion and energy that should have been hard to convey through a photograph._

_“A performer?” Akande questioned, incredulously. What could this harmless, happy-looking man possibly offer to his mentor’s mysterious organization?_

_Akinjide smiled derisively, shaking his head as if at a confused puppy. It riled Akande’s pride, but he held his tongue._

_“Know you nothing of the world, boy?” Akinjide chuckled, one thick finger coming to tap the image of the man. “This is the revolutionary who ousted Vishkar from Rio de Janeiro. A leader--a fighter. A folk hero. And a DJ. One whose popularity is on the rise, and who promises to be incredibly influential in the upcoming years. Especially,” Akinjide sat back, hands folded into his lap. “With regards to the Omnics.”_

_Akande peered closer at the file, scanning quickly through the full biography provided. “He was a street rat,” he muttered. His eyes widened, focusing on the combatives sections of the profile. “The leader of the Rio uprising was a healer?”_

_Akinjide waved a hand dismissively. “Only after he captured prototype Vishkar technology and reverse engineered it to complement his musical talents. Before that? He fought them with bricks and clever tactics. Weapons were one of the first things Vishkar confiscated when they were handed control of the city, so he and his band used what was available to them.”_

_Akande examined the photo again, a sense of curiosity growing in his chest. “Odd. He does not look like a fighter.”_

_Akinjide chuckled, signalling to the omnic waiter for a refill of his drink. “Appearances can be deceiving. But his looks are of no concern to you, Akande Ogundimu. You are to travel to Rio in three days time. You will secure a meeting with dos Santos, and convince him to accept the sponsorship and support of the Ogundimu corporation. From there, we will do what we need to to bend his influence to our purposes.”_

_Akande flipped the file shut, sipping from his own drink. “After Vishkar, I highly doubt he will be open to any sort of corporate cooperation. How am I to convince him?”_

_Akinjide picked up his glass, draining the dregs from it and crunching the ice vulgarly between his teeth. “That,_ **_boy_ ** _, is for_ **_you_ ** _to determine.”_

So here Akande found himself, three days and one long flight later. Securing tickets had been a simple matter of resources, of which he had an abundance. A backstage meeting with the DJ had required slightly more diplomacy. But Akande was nothing if not resourceful, and the reports he read indicated many of those injured in the fighting with Vishkar were in need of prosthetics. Ogundimu Prosthetics proposing to partner with Lúcio to provide said prosthetics had proven to be an elegant solution. It allowed Akande an in, with the upside of using  his own identity and subsequent connections to his best advantage in his dealings with the entertainer.

At last, the opening act took their leave of the stage, exiting to enthusiastic applause from the thousand or so audience members.

A hush fell over the crowd as the lights of the stage dimmed, soft green and yellow strobes beginning to pulse in the wings as a steady beat reverberated through the space. The low notes shook through Akande’s torso, buzzing around in his chest like a punch of bass to the diaphragm. Despite himself, his fingers drumming against his arm while his eyes stayed transfixed on the stage.

Mist began pouring across the stage, playing with the lights to create a dream-like atmosphere. Watching keenly, Akande saw the center of the stage pull apart, a low platform rising in the middle. Its shape gave it away as the DJ’s turntable, through from what Akande could see the man himself was nowhere to be found.

“And now,” said the announcer, voice booming over the steady beat, “Our big performance of the night! The talented, the rythmic, the _revolutionary_ \--Lúcio!”

A bright spotlight shone suddenly on the wall above Akande, and he turned.

A man in augments--Lúcio, judging by his dreads and his bright green shirt--had entered through the window above Akande’s head and was gliding along the wall.

Akande frowned, looking more closely as the musician made his way along the walls and towards the stage to the frantic cheers of his audience. After a moment, he realized the musician wasn’t just gliding--he was skating, a bright green afterglow trailing in his wake.

“Hello, hello!” Lúcio greeted the crowd, dipping low to slam some high fives as he vaulted onto the stage. “Look at this crowd! You guys ready to make some music?”

The crowd replied in a roaring affirmative, and the DJ performed a intricate maneuver to flip over the table and land perfectly on the other side. Akande himself straightened, interest heightening as he observed his target.

The man seemed smaller than Akande had imagined, though it was possible that it was the stage and the distance between them that made it appear so. He was in constant motion, radiating a sense of energy that Akande doubted any camerawork would be able to capture. The musician placed his hands on the turntables, beginning to ramp up the music. “Let’s break it down!”

The beat was fast, and Akande thought back to the file’s mention of the musician’s stolen Vishkar technology as he felt his own heart rate pick up speed to match it. Surely the musician didn’t have enough range on his system to cover an entire crowd?

No, Akande decided, mouth drying as he continued to watch the stage. That wasn’t it at all.

The man in the photo had been good looking. In person, even from a distance, Akande was forced to admit that the camera had done Lúcio Correia dos Santos no justice.

The man was _beautiful._

The light show was well choreographed, pulsing perfectly with the music, but what Akande found himself begrudgingly impressed by the most was the DJ himself. The relentless energy he had on stage, the bright optimism he broadcast with his sweeping, open movements—he was a born performer if Akande had ever seen one. He was effortlessly inspiring and energising.

As the set continued, with the crowd growing more raucously enthusiastic with every acrobatic twist and swinging flip Lúcio worked into his routine as he ran the turntable, Akande found the idea of this man leading a revolution becoming more and more believable.

Eventually, the beat of the music slowed, dropping tempo into a soothing rhythm that signaled the song scheduled to come second-to-last on the set.  Akande turned, the crowd parting for him as he made his way towards the entrance of the backstage area; for a man of his size, crowds were no obstacle. He nodded at the two guards, flashing his pass casually.

It amused him to observe the relief in their shoulders as they scanned the pass, letting him through. Doubtlessly they would have tried to stop him if he had not had the proper documentation, but even those who did not know him from his years in the ring balked at the thought of confronting him physically.

Akande proceeded backstage with confidence. Beyond the walls separating the behind scenes from the stage, the crowd roared as the first notes of the last and most iconic song of the set-- _Synaesthesia Auditiva--_ began to play. Akande settled into a waiting area indicated to him by a harried looking tech. It would be ten, fifteen minutes at most before the musician finished his set, greeted a few of his fans, and made his way back to meet his VIP guest.

Akande spent those few minutes going over his plan in his head. It was simple in concept, but the difficulty of the execution rested mainly on how trusting Lúcio Correria dos Santos would be of a corporation that claimed philanthropic interests in Rio. Based on the reports from Vishkar’s take-over of the city, its abuse of its citizens, and dos Santos’s own actions against the companies? Akande prepared himself to need all the diplomatic tact at his disposal to make this deal go through and begin the process of entrapping dos Santos in Talon’s web.

Twenty minutes passed, and Akande found himself growing impatient as he perused his messages. Akinjide had sent him several texts in the last few hours, asking him why he wasn’t enjoying himself at the concert.

 _A.Ogundimu: You need not_ **_remind_ ** _me that Talon is surveilling my every move. I am well aware that I am being closely evaluated._

_A. Adeyemi: ah, but what is the point of having a globally present surveillance network if no one knows you can use it?_

Akande sighed, mulling over a suitably cutting response for his mentor before his ears caught the shush-shushing sounds of hard-light skates moving against concrete.

He looked up just in time to see Lúcio come speeding into the room, a slightly panicked look on his face.

“Hey!” the musician greeted, skidding to a halt two feet from Akande’s chair. The man stuck his hand out, all affable forwardness. “Sorry about the wait! I got a little caught up in the meet and greets.”

Akande tucked his phone into his jacket pocket, rising from his chair. Standing, he towered over Lúcio. While being taller than most everyone he met was something Akande had grown used to in the twenty years since he grew to his full height, it was still surprising how... _small_ the famous DJ was. Lúcio’s head hardly reached his _waist._

Reconsidering, Akande sat back down, deciding that it was better to be on eye-level with his target than to avoid the perceived rudeness of remaining seated. He stuck out his own hand, shaking Lúcio’s casually, if carefully. His palm was large enough to enclose the other man’s _wrist._ “Akande Ogundimu,” he said simply. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Correia dos Santos.”

* * *

 When his sister told him the head of Ogundimu Prosthetics wanted to discuss partnering with him to provide prosthetics to everyone in the favelas affected by Vishkar, Lúcio had been a little skeptical, but willing to meet the guy and see what he was about.

Sure it was probably just some PR stunt meant to make the company look good after all the flak they caught for how much they profited from the Omnic Crisis. But if it meant everyone from the old neighborhood getting fitted with working prosthetics? Lúcio was willing to give the dude a chance.

He had been expecting a guy in a suit, maybe on the older side, mid forties to fifties, with silvered hair. Maybe a little sleazy, maybe not. Despite the bad press, Lúcio had to admit he’d only ever heard good-to-neutral things about the company.

The startlingly handsome, well-dressed colossus he found in the waiting area? Not exactly what Lúcio had expected. But it also wasn’t like he was complaining.

Lúcio’s first impression of Akande Ogundimu was one of _presence._ Not only was the man enormous, but even sitting down the striking man seemed to fill the room with quiet command. It would be intimidating, probably, if it wasn’t for the fact that Lúcio was still riding the post-concert high.

As it was, he had to repress a brief moment of fight-or-flight when Akande’s hand closed around his own. Lúcio had always been aware that he wasn’t exactly the biggest guy--his younger sister, who was a whole half foot taller than him at 5’9’’, made sure that he was aware of this every time she picked her big brother up for a hug.

But the way Akande Ogundimu’s hand folded practically double around his own? Simply. Ridiculous.

Lúcio squeezed what of Akande’s hand he could fit in his own, maybe a little less enthusiastically than he normally would. The last thing he wanted to do was test this guy’s grip--he had the feeling he’d lose his hand. “Call me Lúcio.”

Akande nodded. “Lúcio, then,” he said warmly, and Lúcio felt his heart flutter a bit. Akande’s voice was a smooth baritone, and while anything the man said sounded stupidly nice Lúcio had to admit the sound of his own name was pretty...affecting.

Akande released Lúcio’s hand, gesturing for the other man to sit. Lúcio did so, quietly amused that the man was inviting him to take a seat in his own waiting area. A king in the belly, this man. “Your concert was impressive,” he opened, and Lúcio recognized the praise for the negotiation tactic it was. “I have not kept up on popular music as of late. I can see that that was my mistake--you truly are magnificent.”

Lúcio waved the praise away, smiling. People always seemed to think he was easy to win over--whether it was because he was a new celebrity or because they thought less of his background. But it was going to take more than nice words to get him on board with whatever Akande was getting ready to sell him. “Thanks, man. I’m glad you enjoyed it! Is this your first time in Brazil?”

Akande shook his head. “I’ve been here several times before, actually.” He took his phone from his pocket, pulling up some photos. “I used to come to Rio for mixed martial arts tournaments.” Akande offered Lúcio his phone.

Lúcio took it, quietly noting that the device--scaled to accommodate Akande and his needs--was more like a small tablet in his own hands. He scrolled through the pictures, seeing a younger version of the man before him posed in front of some famous Rio landmarks. He laughed openly at the one of Akande as a teen, arms spread out by his sides as he stood in front of the Cristo Redentor. It seems the man had always been a bit of a king in the belly.

“Humble, huh?” He said, handing the phone back to the larger man.

Akande shrugged. “I feel no need to hide what I am or what I have accomplished.” He gestured around them, indicating the concert. “I see I am not alone in that respect.”

Lúcio shrugged. "It's what gets people pumped. I like making people happy, lifting 'em up when they might be going through a rough time. So, I’m told you have a proposition you want to discuss?”

Akande nodded. “Yes. My company, as you may be aware, was heavily involved in providing prosthetics for those injured as a result of the Omnic Crisis. Although we have existed since far before that time, the experience left a deep impression on my family. It has left us with a desire to provide assistance where we can when similar disaster occurs.” Akande straightened, pulling a slim cream envelope from the pocket of his tailored suit jacket. He handed it to Lúcio. “This is our written proposal for a cooperative effort between you and our company to provide prosthetics and occupational therapy to those injured in the overthrow of Vishkar.”

Lúcio accepted the envelope, resolving to read it later. Written proposals were nice, but he was more interested in hearing Akande’s take on what Ogundimu Prosthetics hoped to achieve through a partnership. “Why go through me?” he questioned, finally asking the first thing that had popped into his head when Isabelle first brought the idea to him three days ago. “Wouldn’t the government be more efficient?”

Akande shook his head. “I am aware that officials within Rio and the larger Brazilian government were the ones who brought Vishkar into the favelas in the first place,” he explained. “I do not think that the residents of those neighborhoods are very open to the government inviting more foreigners in to ‘improve their lives’ at this time.”

Lúcio had to give the guy credit--he wasn’t wrong, and he seemed to actually have done his research on everything that had gone down with Vishkar. Ogundimu Prosthetics wasn’t the first company to try and ride a PR wave by tying themselves to Lúcio’s rising celebrity as a DJ and activist. But so far Akande seemed to be genuinely interested in helping his neighborhood, and Lúcio wasn’t above using his newfound status to help his people. “Good point,” he admitted. “So, what exactly are you looking for from _me_?”

Akande leaned back in his seat, meeting Lúcio’s eyes easily. “We need you to liaison between our people and the civil leadership in the favelas,” he said, posture relaxed. “Fitting an injured person with a prosthetic is more than just a matter of creating and attaching the prosthesis itself--our technicians and physical therapists need to be able to see their patients consistently, to ensure the prosthesis itself is performing properly and that the patient’s body and mind are adjusting.

“Most of those in Rio who we are seeking to help lost their limbs traumatically--even with our augments, which provide neurofeedback and in ideal circumstances can feel indistinguishable from the real thing?” Akande rolled his sleeve back, indicating to Lúcio that his own right arm was a prosthetic. Albeit, a remarkably realistic one. “Such a mental adjustment is often difficult. In short, we need the ability to establish a long term relationship. This is not to be an empty or ill-thought out PR scheme, Mr. Correia dos Santos.”

Lúcio raised his brow. Akande had summarily addressed almost every concern he had with the project, and he hadn’t even had a chance to ask any of the pointed questions he’d been saving up for the meeting. “Just Lúcio, man,” he said distractedly, eyes stuck on Akande’s bare wrist. He gripped the arms of his chair reflexively, suppressing the impulse to reach out and touch to see if the skin felt as real as it appeared.

He looked up, surprised to see Akande watching him intently. Lúcio swallowed. “Did you...” he started, and stopped. Losing his own legs had been horrible and painful. Even though he wasn’t ashamed of the injury, he didn’t enjoy talking about what happened. But Akande had mentioned the Crisis, and Lúcio felt like it was important to know if the man was speaking from experience when he talked about the complications of replacing limbs lost to trauma. “In the Crisis?”

Akande nodded. “Yes.”

Lúcio mirrored the gesture, slowly. “Yeah. Okay, then.” Lúcio stood up, not missing the flash of amusement in Akande’s face at the fact that Lúcio was hardly taller standing than he had been sitting. Lúcio stuck his hand out again, smiling. “I’m in.”

Akande paused, then smiled, locking his hand with Lúcio’s. “Excellent,” he said, and surprised Lúcio by bringing his prosthetic hand to join his flesh one, cupping Lúcio’s hand in his own. He stood, moving carefully into Lúcio’s space. Where he had been all business a moment ago, he was now solicitous, and Lúcio felt his face flushing as he was regarding with that warm smile. “I would like to discuss the details with you over dinner tomorrow,” Akande said smoothly. “Would you be opposed?”

Something in Lúcio’s chest warmed, and his neck strained a bit as he looked up into Akande’s warm brown eyes. “Sounds good. Have a place in mind?”

* * *

 “Bullshit,” Lúcio laughed, taking another sip of red wine. “You did not wrestle a _lion_. Come on man, miss me with that fake-y ‘African’ crap.”

Akande grinned, taking a sip from his own glass. He shrugged. It had been worth a try. “You would be surprised how many people have fallen for that story.”

Lúcio shook his head. “It's not that I doubt you _could_ ,” he amended, and Akande saw him eye the breadth of his shoulders. Akande adjusted his posture, unable to resist a little preening. Lúcio blinked, flushing, and a warm sense of satisfaction bloomed in Akande’s belly.

Dinner had progressed smoothly through the first two of seven courses. Akande and Lúcio had not yet begun discussing the details of Akande’s proposal, and had instead begun trading stories of their early lives. Akande revealed that he had spent most of his childhood in Oye, a city in the Yorubaland region of Nigeria, before traveling for school and competitive martial arts throughout his teens and young adulthood. Akande, meanwhile, had learned that Lúcio had spent most of his life in a small favela of Rio, with his parents and three sisters.

Lúcio had seemed somewhat wary of the restaurant when they first arrived, joking that he hoped Akande wasn’t the type to mistake price for quality. His fears seemed to be allayed with the arrival of the first course--two small bowls of perfectly round _acarajé_ , fried to a golden crisp. The musician had dug in happily, making a small, appreciative noise on his first bite into one of the little dumplings. Akande’s shoulder had relaxed, releasing tension he hadn’t even realized he’d had. The restaurant Akande selected was known for being exclusive and expensive while still maintaining strict adherence to the roots of Brazilian cuisine.

Akande had already had the place in mind--he had been there before, to celebrate wins in the ring back in the days before his prosthetic had disqualified him from competition. It was modestly sized, built to comfortably seat around a hundred people or so. A little large for a luxury restaurant, but expensive dark wood panelling and the clever application of mirrors chunked the large space into smaller sections, optimal for privacy. Low, gentle golden lighting and the high ceiling created a sense of intimacy while avoiding claustrophobia.

After leaving Lúcio the night before, Akande had called and modified his booking to include one of the small, private rooms the restaurant provided. The table in the main room had been acceptable for when the purpose of the dinner was strictly business. Now that it has the dual purpose of seduction, Akande saw no reason not to go all out.

Judging by Lúcio’s posture and how the somewhat guarded man was opening up to him, Akande chalked it down as a good move.

“So, hey,” Lúcio said, setting his wine glass down and squaring his shoulders. His neatly tailored jacket sat straight on his frame, and Akande guessed that someone else had selected the man’s outfit--there wasn’t even a hint of green. “I have an awkward question.”

Akande raised a brow. “Rumors of me having wrestled an elephant are also exaggerated,” he joked.

Lúcio laughed, leaning back as he visibly relaxed. Akande suppressed a small smile--it felt good to be able to put the other man at ease. “Nah, I mean. An actually awkward, personal question.” Lúcio paused, breathing in slowly to brace himself. “How did you lose your arm?”

Akande chuckled. “I am certain an internet search could have told you that,” he said wryly.

Lúcio grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck--a self conscious gesture. It drew his shirt tight against his chest, and Akande offhandedly admired the lean cut of the smaller man’s chest. “Yeah, but that seemed kinda,” he paused. “I don’t know, rude? I mean, I don’t like it when people talk about me like they know me just because they read some stuff online, you know?”

Akande nodded. “Thank you,” he said honestly. “Your courtesy is appreciated. I lost the limb while assisting with the clean-up of straggler robots in Numbani. An E54 unit. It’s submachine gun had been disabled, but it still managed to mangle my right arm. It was a choice between keeping a crippled flesh arm and upgrading it to a stronger prosthetic.” Akande shrugged, indicating that the decision had been obvious.

Lúcio was wide-eyed. “Guess I should be grateful mine wasn’t really a choice,” he joked, though his voice was strained. “Don’t know if I could have made a decision like that.”

Akande cocked his head, honestly surprised. “I am sorry,” he said, cursing whoever had neglected to include _that_ piece of trivia in the dossier. “I was not aware you had prosthetics.”

Lúcio shrugged, shrinking somewhat in his chair. “Not exactly something I advertise.” He leaned down, rapping lightly against his own shin. “Both legs, from the knee down. Vishkar has some pretty nasty security systems.”

Akande scowled, wondering idly if Talon would be upset if he quietly killed a few Vishkar executives. No one important, of course. Perhaps just their Chief of Security. “Such security systems are illegal in private facilities.”

Lúcio laughed. The sound was short and bitter, and it made Akande taste blood. “I’ll make sure we bring it up at the UN trial.”

Akande took a breath, calming himself. “Who is your manufacturer?” he enquired.

Lúcio opened his mouth to reply, then paused. “One second.” The small man ducked low, raising the leg of his slacks to inspect his own prosthetic. He sat back up quickly, flushed with embarrassment. Akande noted that it was a good look on him. “Stryker, apparently. It was just the standard issue stuff the hospital my friends got me to was able to hook me up with.”

Akande took a sip of his wine, buying time as he mulled over the opportunity suddenly presented to him. If Lúcio had prosthetics that were mere standard issue, Akande could provide him with better ones. It would be a good opening to establish trust between himself and Lúcio--providing prosthetics for the man’s people was obviously the best way to win his good will, but a personal favor couldn’t hurt.

 _And_ , Akande acknowledged to himself, glancing down to watch as Lúcio bit into a piece of coxinha, plush lips smiling contently around the buttery crust of the appetizer. _It would be an excellent excuse to get closer to the other man_. To truly gauge whether the attraction Akande felt between them went both ways. He had noticed the musician’s eyes lingering on the broad expanse of his shoulders a few times throughout the night, and his biography had confirmed Lúcio’s romantic history with men.

But further investigation could only help, not hinder, in reaching his goals.

Akande set his glass down with a delicate, muffled _thud_ onto the clean linen tablecloth. “As a professional I'm a little appalled that you do not know the make of your prosthetics,” he began, all professional interest. “Would you permit me to examine them? I am unfamiliar with that manufacturer.”

Lúcio cocked a brow, swallowing the last of his pastry. A few golden crumbs clung to his lips, tempting Akande to reach across the table and swipe them away with his thumb. Almost disappointingly, Lúcio noticed them, bringing up his napkin to dab at his own mouth. “Uh, sure? I mean if you’re that curious, big guy.”

Akande suppressed a smile. He was curious indeed, though not necessarily _only_ about the prosthetics.

“My thanks,” he said quietly, pushing away from the table.

* * *

 When Lúcio had agreed to this dinner he’d done it mostly with the intention of figuring out just what the hell Akande Ogundimu actually wanted from him.

Ogundimu Prosthetics was a well known company. Yeah, they did their share of philanthropy, but Lúcio was also painfully aware by now that a good chunk of philanthropy was really just powerful people’s way of distracting from or off-setting the guilt from the shadier side of their enterprises.

He’d never heard anything about Ogundimu, _specifically_ , but certain events in recent years had made him distrustful of rich, confident people claiming to be making a better world for the less fortunate.

So it was surprising, honestly, that he was enjoying himself. It didn’t hurt that the food was excellent, even if the restaurant was a little on the obnoxiously high-brow side of things in terms of presentation. But Akande, despite obviously being more than a little full of himself, was, well. Charming. And intelligent. And stupidly, stupidly gorgeous.

The wine was good, too, and Akande seemed adamant that Lúcio’s cup never get completely empty judging by the number of times he’d reached easily across the small table to refill it. By all appearances, Lúcio finally had a conversation partner who seemed to want nothing from him but companionship.

Which, well. Hadn’t been a thing since the revolution, really. For reasons Lúcio didn’t really feel like mulling over too much, not when he was having such a nice night.

Lúcio felt like he deserved a break, and Akande, this weird, intense stranger, was giving him one. So it was understandable that he let his guard down.

Which is why he didn’t think anything of it when Akande stood up from the table until his own chair was pulled away from the table. The large man dropped to one knee on the floor, drawing one of Lúcio’s feet to rest on his thigh.

Akande plucked his shoestrings loose with surprising efficiency, fingers nimble despite their size. In a breath, Lúcio’s left shoe was off, along with his sock, and Akande was rolling the leg of his slacks up to bare his prosthetic.

All of this was done in total silence, with such self assurance and ease in invading Lúcio’s space that it dawned on Lúcio that even if he _had_ said no to Akande, there was _absolutely nothing_ Lúcio could have done to stop him if he decided he wanted to examine Lúcio’s prosthetics anyway.

Testing, Lúcio tried to pull his foot back. It remained completely still in Akande’s grip. Like pulling against stone.

Lúcio blushed furiously, struggling to keep his breathing steady. Akande was…strong. And _enormous._

He was enormous and _kneeling between Lúcio’s legs_ , which meant Lúcio had to spread his thighs to accommodate the literal mountain of a man that was currently cradling one of his prosthetics like it was made of porcelain. Like it--like _Lúcio-_ -was something precious and breakable.

Lúcio tried to recall the last time anyone had ever made him feel this vulnerable. His mind came up blank, a static of white noise interrupted by a single, clear, bright note of a thought: _This man could literally snap me in half. Climbing him would be like climbing a literal tree. His thigh is thicker than my waist._

_That probably shouldn’t be getting me hard._

As it was, Lúcio resisted the urge to squirm, his hardening dick pressing insistently against the tight fabric of his slacks. He began to sweat. Akande was right there. If Lúcio got hard, there’s no way the intimidating man wouldn’t notice.

Though, judging by the way he was now carefully tracing the rough outline of Lúcio’s ceramic calf, that might actually be the intent behind the other man’s handling of him. Now Lúcio just had to figure out whether this seduction was to win him over, blackmail him, or because for some reason this breathtakingly handsome, charming, genius millionaire Nigerian tech mogul was interested in a short DJ from the favelas of Rio de Janeiro.

The urge to squirm only increased when Akande looked up, piercing eyes keen--and dangerous--as he regarded Lúcio. “Your prosthetics are rudimentary at best,” he rumbled, sliding one large hand up to thumb at the line where Lúcio’s flesh met the metal socket.

Lúcio twitched, unable to suppress a small gasp. Akande seemed content to ignore it, though Lúcio wasn’t sure. There may have been a slash of heat in those brown eyes, a challenging turn to Akande’s smile. Lúcio wouldn’t know--he was staring over the man’s shoulder, trying to avoid looking at Akande’s face directly. It was a _really nice_ face, which was kind of the problem. Lúcio’s dignity was a stake here, and that smile wasn’t helping the situation.

“They’ve done okay so far,” Lúcio choked out.

Akande shook his head, swiping his thumb once more Lúcio’s skin where flesh connected  to metal. Lúcio could feel goosebumps prickling up, and suppressed a twitch. “For a man of your stature such poor prosthetics are unacceptable. I will make you new ones.”

Lúcio snorted. “Was that a short joke?”

Akande raised a brow, then leaned up and in. Even kneeling, he towered over Lúcio, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes. His fingers still lightly caressed Lúcio’s legs, large hands having inched further and further up Lúcio’s clothed thighs. He smiled, slow and dangerous. A cat with a mouse. “You think I would stoop so low?”

 _Holy crap,_ Lúcio realized, and his dick was becoming a _real_ problem, here. _He makes puns. I hate him. He’s perfect._

Lúcio continued looking up. The tendons in his neck were beginning to strain. He leaned further back in the high-backed chair, trying to find an angle that was a little less acute.  “I kind of wish, to be honest,” he shot back. “Maintaining eye contact is getting to be kind of a pain, big guy.”

Akande’s smile widened, his eyes dancing. “I’m sure we could find another position.” His hands came to rest on the back of the chair, caging Lúcio in with his ridiculous, impressive arms. He leaned in, voice dropping an octave as he dipped down to speak softly into Lúcio’s ear. “Though I cannot promise it would be any less...strenuous.”

Lúcio’s breath hitched in his chest, forcing him to gasp. Which was a mistake, because now he could taste the smell of the larger man, all clean skin and a subtle, spicy cologne undercut with a hint of metal. “Oh, yeah?” he said shakily. His mind worked for a comeback, swimming through the haze of arousal as if through molasses.

Then, suddenly, Akande shifted away, out of Lúcio’s space. It wasn’t until the man pulled a sleek phone from his pocket that Lúcio realized the buzzing he was hearing wasn’t just in his head.

Looking apologetic, Akande stood, answering the call in clipped Yoruba. As he pulled away, the air seemed to clear, the humid heat of arousal dispelling like a gathering storm blown off by the wind. Lúcio breathed deep, gulping in the cool air of the room.

He forced himself to breath slowly, his head clearing with each inhale. Okay. So that had happened.

Lúcio looked up at Akande, who had turned his back to answer the call. The soft light of the room highlighted the straight edge of his jawline, the proud slant of his shoulders. He really was one of the most handsome men Lúcio had ever met.

And probably the most dangerous.

Which, Lúcio acknowledged, probably shouldn't make him want to ride him like a carousel.

Akande finished up his conversation, turning to face Lúcio. “My apologies,” he said smoothly. “But it seems there is an emergency I must attend to. Perhaps we can reschedule?”

Lúcio nodded, just realizing now that they hadn’t actually managed to iron out firm plans for the partnership. “I--yeah,” he said, sitting up straight. “I’m down with that. Uh. Do I need to leave now, or?”

Akande waved his hand, dismissive. “No, no. Please, finish your meal. I will contact you for details.”

Lúcio rallied, regaining some of his composure. “Hey. How about I pick the place, this time? Show you a bit of the Brazil I know?”

Akande nodded, amenable. “It is a date.”

* * *

 Akande waited until he was back at his suite to call Akinjide. “I don't appreciate being interrupted in the midst of my mission.”

The man laughed at him. Akande had the distinct impression thatAkinjide was lounging in an overstuffed armchair, large tumbler of bourbon in hand. “Get used to it. Until you become part of the Council your priorities are their priorities. And their priorities have changed--you have an unexpected opportunity, Akande.”

 _Yes, I do, and you're dragging me away from him,_ Akande thought, annoyed. “And what opportunity is this?”

“What do you know about Overwatch?”

Akande grunted, switching the call to speaker. He began the process of removing his formalwear, undoing his cufflinks. “The UN task force. Pivotal to human survival and eventual victory in the Omnic Crisis.  In the last few years they’ve fallen in popularity as they've become less useful to the larger international community and more enforcers of UN priorities.” Akande pulled off his jacket, hanging it neatly. “They have a black ops branch called, unimaginatively, Blackwatch. Headed by former Overwatch commander Gabriel Reyes. It does most of the real work these days, if the tabloids are to be believed.”

The sound of Akinjide crushing ice between his teeth came in over the phone. Akande winced, disgusted. “Correct. They were necessary during the Crisis but have become tools of stagnation since then. Talon’s goal is to have them disbanded within the next five years--”

“--As fascinating as this is,” Akande interrupted, “I hope you did not interrupt my mission for a history lesson.”

Akinjide scoffed. “Your date can wait, boy. There are more important things at hand.” Akande’s phone buzzed, and he saw that he had received an email from a strange address, a jumble of letters and numbers.

He pulled the message up on the decryption software he has been instructed to download onto his phone.

While it loaded, Akinjide continued. “One of our first major moves against them has been disrupted. One of our agents suffered an unfortunate accident at the hands of Blackwatch, and we need you to take her place.”

The message was ninety percent decrypted. “My task?”

Akande could _hear_ the man’s grin as the message popped open with perfect dramatic timing. It contained several attachments--including a ticket to the Opera Nationale de Paris. “Attend a ballet, of course.”

Akande looked over the ticket details--it was for a performance of The Swan Lake. A classic. And a show he had already seen twice. “I am beginning to wonder if you people think me uncultured--so far my missions all seem to center around performances.”

“You have resources and influence--it's not unusual for a man such as yourself to be able to secure last second seats to anything that strikes your fancy. It's one of the reasons I identified you as a valuable asset.”

Akande pulled his undershirt over his head, toeing off his dress shoes. “You think I'm valuable. How sentimental.”

Akinjide barked a laugh. “I'd kill you in an instant if I thought it would serve the cause,” he dismissed. “Remember that, the same is expected of you. It will not be _just_ a ballet--you will be securing a new asset. A prima ballerina married to one of Blackwatch’s agents.”

Akande’s face screwed up in distaste. He sat on the king sized bed, pulling off his slacks. “Kidnapping.” It sounded like vulgar work.

“In a sense, yes.”

“You people better not be expecting me to toss this woman in a bag and throw her over my shoulder,” Akande griped. “And how is she to be an asset? Ransom?”

“Nothing so gauche,” Akinjide assured, though whether he was referring to the method of kidnapping or its purpose, Akande was unsure. “You will see.”

Akande was growing weary of his mentor’s condescension. He was not joining Talon to become some lackey--and he wanted to be sure that that was clear. “Why am I abandoning an international superstar to kidnap a dancer?” Akande asked, insistent on getting more information.

He was met with a stretch of cold silence. Finally, Akinjide replied, voice terse. “That is for your superiors to know and you to keep your nose out of.”

Akande paused, considering his next move carefully. Akinjide was used to getting his way, but the man respected strength of will. Which made his insistence that Akande blindly follow his orders suspicious.

 _A test, then._ “I will not be commanded like chattel,” Akande insisted. “If I do not know what makes this woman valuable, I see no reason to waste my energy. Kidnapping is work for hired muscle--my talents are wasted on such a mission.”

A long pause, and then a laugh. Despite himself, Akande felt a small glow of pride in his chest. He had passed.

“You have a strong spirit, Akande,” Akinjide said warmly. “But you are incorrect. You are no mere hired muscle, but she is no mere dainty dancer. Amelie Lacroix is a formidable woman. She is highly trained in combat, an Olympic level sniper, and she is smart enough to know her husband has made her into a target. Kidnapping her will be a matter of earning her trust, not merely one of grabbing her in some dark alleyway.”

Akande lay back on the cool sheets of the bed, nodding in ascension. “But what makes her a larger priority than my current target?”

“Correia dos Santos was already considered a long shot in terms of an asset--he's shown he doesn't deal well with authority,” Akinjide replied bluntly. “Amelie Lacroix could spell the beginning of the end of Overwatch is she is leveraged properly. And that,” Akinjide said firmly, cutting off Akande’s next question, “Is _actually_ need-to-know.”

Akande sighed, sitting up after stretching out slightly. He could not stretch fully, of course. It was a rare hotel that had a bed long enough to accommodate his height.  “I see that I will be leaving in five hours,” he grumbled. “Is there any way that flight can be delayed?”

“You will need the time to prepare for the mission,” Akinjide said, firm. “Do not expect to be back for several weeks--Talon requires much of you.”

 _Flowers,_  Akande decided, reaching for the tablet on his bedside and pulling up the site of his favored delivery service. _And a handwritten note, to be delivered first thing in the morning._ “Understood.”


	2. The Body Electric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lúcio learns in a few ways just how much of a drama queen Akande Ogundimu can be, has a good talk with his sister, and gets properly seduced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for attachment of prosthetics and sub-drop. Please see end notes for details.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the second chapter! Things get a little spicier here. Shout out to bluebells (bellysblue on tumblr) for her fantastic and dedicated beta skills.

When Lúcio awoke to a knock on his door the next morning he wasn't entirely sure what to expect. He figured the it was his manager, or that his sister had come early for their lunch date.

What he hadn't figured on was it being a small gang of delivery people, who greeted him politely and proceeded to carry about half a florist’s of flowers into his apartment.

Accompanying the dizzying array of bright blooms was a small envelope in cream and gold stationary.

It contained a letter:

 

> _“Lúcio,_
> 
> _My deepest apologies, but I am afraid a situation has arisen back home that requires my personal attention. I had to leave late last night, or I assure you I would have excused myself in person. Please accept these flowers as a small apology for having to abandon our dinner plans, and as a token of my regard for you. I hope their beauty brings you as much pleasure as your company has brought me in our short acquaintance._
> 
> _Yours, Akande Ogundimu_
> 
> _PS: My business should be concluded by the end of next month, should you like to reschedule.”_

The note was written on thick cardstock that even _felt_ expensive. Which, Lúcio mused, was to be expected considering its sender.

That Akande had to cancel was disappointing. More disappointing than it probably should have been, considering Lúcio had known the man for a grand total of two days at this point.

But it was also good to know the other man had thought of him, and that Lúcio rated more than an apologetic phone call in Akande’s estimation.

Lúcio looked up from the note, surveying the veritable field of flowers that now filled his apartment. He quirked his lips, noting that Akande, in his generosity, had just made it a lot harder for Lúcio to clean the apartment before his sister arrived for their double lunch-and-tactics-meeting. _Then again,_ Lúcio mused while regarding the pollen already dusting his furniture, _Maybe a phone call would have been just fine._

* * *

 

Three hours later, Lúcio was just putting the finishing touches on the _feijoda_ when there was another knock on his door. Opening it revealed a tall, sturdily built woman in a three piece suit with neat cornrows.

“[Little brother!]!” she greeted brightly, pulling Lúcio into an embrace with her free arm. “[Good to see you!]”

Lúcio wrapped his arms around her waist, squeezing her tight. “[One day you’re gonna stop calling me that, little sister. I may be short, but I’ll always be three years older than you.]”

Isabella laughed, arm settling around his shoulders. “[And you’ll always be half a foot shorter, too.]”

Lúcio pinched her, causing her to squawk and nearly drop her wine. “[Brat.]”

He looked up, a quake of fear crawling up his spine when he saw her mischievous look. “[Isa, don’t you da--]”

Too late. Isa had set the wine down precariously on Lúcio’s shoe rack, and proceeded to wrap her other arm around her brother, hoisting the small man into the air. “[I can’t hear you!]” she sang, swinging him wildly in the entryway. “[You’re too far away, big brother! You’ll have to speak up!]”

Lúcio laughed, kicking his legs in the air. He pinched what of her arms he could reach viciously. “[Put me down, little menace!]”

Isa grinned, kicking the door gently shut behind her as she carried her struggling brother into his apartment. Wincing and looking for a place to set him down--Lúcio was very good at pinching--he saw her eyes widen as she noticed that every available surface in the living room had been covered in flower arrangements.

Cocking a brow, she lifted her brother up higher, until they were eye level. “[Looks like someone got another secret admirer.]”

Lúcio shrugged, reaching up to tweak her nose. “[Not so secret, this time. Set me down and maybe I’ll even tell you about them before we go over the most recent legal threats Vishkar forwarded you.]”

Isa set her brother down, brushing some imaginary lint off his shoulder. “[Thank you for flying with Isabella airlines,]” she joked. “[Now tell me about the newest crazy person trying to win my big brother’s heart. It’s been a long day--I need some good news before we dig into what those fuckers are trying to pull with the trial.]”

Lúcio waved her away, walking back to retrieve the wine before it met an unfortunate fate all over his newly clean floor. “[Later, little one. First, food. You must be starving from all those late nights at the library, yeah?]”

Isa smiled, and went to sit at the island in Lúcio’s open kitchen. “[Despite rumors to the contrary, law students do eat food occasionally.]”

Lúcio eyed her, plunking the wine down and fetching two bowls and spoons from the cabinet. He set one down in front of her, then pulled the heavy iron lid off the stew simmering on the stove. “[Most law students aren’t preparing to present evidence in international court before they even graduate. Also? Not like this, they don’t,]” he said smugly.

Lúcio watched smugly as the heady, savory scent of the black bean-based stew hit Isabella with a crack of nostalgia to the face. She blinked, eyes a little wet as she visibly gathered her composure. “[Mom’s recipe, ey big brother?]”

Lucio smiled gently, ladling stew into a owl and passing it to her, hands clasping her own over the warm porcelain. “[As if I’d use any other.]”

Later, after the two siblings had sopped up the remains of their _feijoda_ with fresh fry-bread, Isa began interrogating him.  “[Ai! I almost forgot--how did the meeting go?]”

Lúcio shrugged, rummaging in a drawer for a corkscrew.  “[Which meeti--ow! Isabella!]” He rubbed his shoulder where she had smacked it.

Isa pouted. “[Don't be obtuse. The meeting with Ogundimu Prosthetics!]”

Lúcio pulled the wine open, pouring a measure in each of their glasses. Her glass was noticeably less full than his, despite her larger size; a small vengeance. “[Uh, fine? I think I'm gonna do it.]”

Isa paused, wineglass halfway to her lips. “[... You haven't signed anything, have you?]”

Lúcio rolled his eyes. “[No! Come on, Bella! Give me a little credit.]”

Isa laughed, leaning casually against the granite topped island. “[Sorry. I still have flashbacks to your contracting.]”

Lúcio frowned. “[I wasn't that nai--]”

“[Lúcio if you respect your sister as the brilliant lawyer she is, you will close your lying mouth and tell me who sent you all these flowers.]”

Lúcio raised his eyebrow at her, miming buttoning his lip and shrugging.

Isa flicked him in the nose. “[Little smartass.]”

Lúcio laughed. “Akande Ogundimu.”

Isabella looked suspicious. “[Is he attempting to bribe you?]”

Lúcio flushed. “[Not quite. Kinda. He had to cancel a meeting with me to take care of some business back home and he sent these as an apology.]”

Isabella regarded him, mouth quirked. “[Right,]” she drawled, “[Because it's normal for people to apologize for missing a business meeting by turning your apartment into a high end flower shop.]”

Lúcio shrugged, burying his face in one of the arrangements. “[I thought it was nice.]”

There was a stretch of silence. Lúcio looked up to see his sister regarding him with horror. “[Lúcio Correia dos Santos, you are _not_ catching feelings for some entitled business mogul!]”

Lúcio frowned. “[He’s not--]” he began, then paused.”[Okay he is pretty entitled, yeah, but he’s an okay guy! Who likes me!]”

Isabella threw her hands up.”[Lúcio! You’re _Lúcio_! Thousands of people like you! I’ve had to issue two restraining orders in the last month alone! The only reason you’re even single is because you’re a workaholic!]”

Lúcio set his wine down carefully. “[He’s not just any guy, Isa.]” He began listing Akande’s attributes, counting them off on his fingers. ”[He’s charming. He’s nice to me, he’s genuinely interested in helping our people--]”

Isa grasped her brother by his shoulders, shaking him lightly. ”[You’ve known him for two days! How in God’s name can you assume he can be trusted?]”

Lúcio shrugged her off, fuming. “[If you don't trust him why did you arrange the meeting?]”

Isa pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing. “[There's a difference between trusting him to provide medical aid to our neighborhood and trusting him with _you_.]”

Lúcio huffed. The last thing he wanted today was to stress his little sister out. She'd worked so hard to protect him in the last year--it was something he still wasn't used to, relying on his little Isa instead of her relying on her big brother Lúcio. She was the only reason he wasn’t in UN custody while they awaited the Vishkar trial. The officials that had tried to take him in had been adamant that it would only be for his own protection, but he didn’t exactly feel like being on ice for two years while the international justice system crept on at its usual glacial pace. Isa had used all her knowledge and connections to help him, and he knew he owed her.

But this was also getting ridiculous. He was contemplating letting Akande taking him on a date and continuing to send him flowers. Not, as Isa seemed to be implying, signing himself and all his secrets to Akande’s corporation.

Lúcio reached up, pulling Isa’s hands away from her face gently. He held her hands in his. “[How about trusting me?]”

“[I trust you to follow your heart, Lúcio. And sometimes that thing can get you in trouble.]”

“[I'm not _dumb_.]”

Isabella’s expression softened. She stepped around the counter, pulling Lúcio into her long arms, tucking his head under her chin. “[No, mano. You are one of the smartest people I've ever met, big brother. Too smart for your own good, maybe.]”

Lúcio snorted. “[You're one to talk! Don’t think Rosalinda hasn’t been giving me an earful every time Vishkar tries to mess with you. Your girlfriend at least recognizes you’re in just as much danger as I am, little lone.]”

Isa shrugged, fiddling with one of the beads at the end of her brother’s dreads. “[I’ll be fine,]” she dismissed, waving him off. “[Unlike _someone,_ I don’t make a habit of creating a public spectacle of myself. Besides, you know our old friend _la muerta_ looks out for me.]” She yanked one bead lightly, a childish habit from when Isa actually was shorter than him and sometimes had to resort to small violences to get her distractible older brother’s attention. “[Also, not my point. I'm cynical. You? You _believe_ in people, in the good they have inside of them. And that is what makes you such a great leader--that kind of belief? The way you have it? It makes people want to live up to what you see in them. Makes them better.]”

Isa pulled back, holding Lúcio by the shoulders. Her mouth was grim and serious. Lúcio was the one who had lead the favelas to revolution, but Isa had been his second all along the way. She was the one who caught the Vishkar plants amongst them, who protected their group from sabotage while Lúcio planned and lead the attack. She was the one heading the legal side of the battle they were still fighting. Lúcio may have been the face and fire of the movement in Brazil, but Isabella was its backbone.

So Lúcio tightened down on his own annoyance, and listened.

“[But sometimes people think they're doing what they think is best and they hurt you anyways,]” Isa continued. “[Maybe Mr. Ogundimu--]”

“Akande.”

“[Maybe Akande is sincere. But I know the world he comes from. It is a privileged one, and privilege can twist even the best intentions.]” Isa sighed, burying her nose in Lúcio’s hair. The familiar smell of her surrounded him, strong black coffee and the herbal tang of her rosemary shampoo. “[Just. Be careful, alright? We're finally in a place where I don't have to worry about losing you.]”

Guilt nipped at Lúcio’s heels. “[I will be.]”

“[Alright,]” Isabella conceded, and pulled Lúcio down to sit beside her on the windowseat. He settled into the opposite corner, and she hooked her bare ankles around his prosthetics, like when they were children and Lúcio would take her up to the rooftops to teach her the layout of the city. “[Now, tell me more about this corporate lackey who has managed to ensnare my older brother’s heart.]”

* * *

 Said heart was in Lúcio’s throat three weeks later when Akande knocked on his apartment door, five minutes early to their dinner.

“One second!” Lúcio shouted, doing a final taste test of the _moqueca_ burbling away in its pot. He hmm’d, adding one more dash of cilantro and whipping off his apron. He normally didn't bother, but he wanted avoid getting sauce on his button up and slacks.

Brushing his hair back from his face, Lúcio took a moment to breathe and straighten his shoulders before opening the door. “I hope you’re hungry, because I made--is that for me?” Lúcio paused, gesturing to the large, expensive looking stainless steel case Akande had tucked under one arm.

Akande smiled, warm and genuine. He looked well, if a little more tired than he had when he left three weeks ago. “Indeed--to both my hunger and this triviality.” Akande hefted the large case in front of him, stepping through the threshold and setting it gently against the entryway wall.

Lúcio closed the door, face flushing as a small thrill crawled up his spine. The case was as big as him, and Akande moved it like it was paper.

Lúcio lead Akande to the dining table, gesturing for the other man to make himself comfortable. “I wasn't aware we were exchanging presents.”

Akande shrugged off his jacket, draping it over his chair. “You have been kind enough to cook for me,” he demurred. “If your culinary talents hold a candle to any of your other skills, I am certain that will be giftt enough.”

Lúcio snorted. _Flatterer_. “Maria dos Santos would have died before she let any of her kids out in the world without them knowing how to cook a real meal.”

Akande smiled, producing an expensive looking bottle of wine from an inner pocket of his jacket. “Your mother sounds like a wise woman.”

Lúcio‘s answering smile was sad and soft. “She was,” he replied, fiddling wistfully with a loc. It had been her favorite style to wear her hair in. He himself used to favor much thicker ones, or tight cornrows that were excellent for skating. “She passed two years ago.”

Akande frowned, setting the wine down and placing a large, careful hand on Lúcio’s shoulder. “My apologies,” he said, squeezing gently. “I would have been honored to meet her.”

Lúcio blinked, clearing the mist from his eyes. He pressed Akande’s hand with his own. “She might have been a little less enthusiastic about you,” he admitted, laughing a little at the thought of his tiny mother glaring up at Akande. “She was a pretty staunch socialist, and didn’t have a lot of great opinions about rich people. No matter how philanthropic.”

Akande laughed, squeezing Lúcio’s shoulder warmly. “My admiration increases, then. The post-Crisis world has been unkind to her world view, and still she persisted. A strong woman.”

Lúcio nodded, mouth wry. “In Rio? She had to be.”

The conversation from there turned to Rio, to more of Lúcio’s childhood home and the things Akande hoped to help Lúcio accomplish there. They served themselves the fish stew Lúcio had prepared and the accompanying cornmeal fry bread. Akande poured them both generous glasses of good wine. The conversation was warm and light, interspersed with laughter as the two men entertained one another with witticisms.

When they’d finished the wine Akande stood from the table, ferrying their dishes over. He unbuttoned his sleeves, rolling them to his elbows, and began washing the dishes.

Akande glanced over his shoulder, expression smug when he caught Lúcio’s stare. Lúcio rolled his eyes, mouth quirking. Sure, Akande was attractive. Unspeakably so. But mostly Lúcio was just suprised to see a rich boy like him doing the dishes.

“So…” Lúcio fiddled with his wineglass, glancing appreciatively at Akande’s bared forearms. “Do I get to know what's in the box, or…?”

Akande chuckled, looking over his shoulder. His gaze was fond, and something in Lúcio flowed with an answering warmth. “In due time. It is an engineering project of mine.”

Lúcio whistled, low. “Engineering, huh? Fighter, business owner, dish-doer, and engineer? You're an ace of all spades, huh, big guy?”

Akande turned, leaning against the counter as he dried the last of the plates. His body was angled in a parody of his fighting days, showcasing himself shamelessly. Lúcio blinked, flushing slightly, and Akande grinned. “You forgot lover.”

Lúcio got up slowly from the table, approaching Akande with the pretense of setting his empty glass in the sink. He leaned past Akande to set it gently down, maneuvering himself into Akande’s space. Lúcio set his hands on the counter on either side of Akande’s hips, then looked up.

The wine was making him heady, warming him from the inside and gently melting away the anxiety he’d had for weeks about this night. Sure, when he and Akande had met there had seemed to be an almost instant connection, a palpable humid heat between them. But three weeks was a long time, for people who were practically strangers. He has feared this would be awkward. Looking up at Akande’s amused, handsome face, he was really glad it wasn’t.

* * *

 Warm brown eyes looked up at Akande from behind lowered lashes. They sparkled with teasing light as the musician pushed one stray loc back over a lithely muscled shoulder.

Akande had to squash the urge to pick Lúcio up, set him upon the counter, and ravish him there in his own kitchen. _Patience,_ he chided himself _. All good things are worth the wait. Three weeks...a few hours more will not injure you._

That, and if this was how Lúcio was reacting to his flirtation now, Akande could not wait to see the musician’s reaction to his gift.

Lúcio leaned in closer, pressing his body against Akande’s own. “Strange,” he said, low. “I don't think you've shown me that side of you, Mr. Ogundimu.”

Deciding to take a risk, Akande brushed back a few stray hairs from Lúcio’s face, turning the motion into a caress of the other man’s cheek. “As I have said, my friends call me ‘Akande’.”

Lúcio leaned into Akande’s touch, nuzzling his palm. He brushed a small kiss, featherlight, against the calloused skin. Liquid fire shot up Akande’s arm, spreading into a gold warmth that pooled in his belly.  “Is that what we are?” Lúcio asked, eyes dancing. “Just friends?”

Akande’s stomach tightened, his cock twitching in his pants. “I think,” he said lightly. “I would like to give you your gift now.”

Ignoring Lúcio’s cheeky grin--a leer that implied very vividly what exactly Lúcio thought an appropriate gift would be--Akande instructed the musician to sit on the couch.

“While I was away I kept coming back to the end of our dinner conversation,” Akande said, pulling the heavy steel case over to rest at his side. He pressed his thumb against the vita-lock. The case _beeped_ , locks clicking open. “I know you are content with what your community’s hospital was able to give you, and admire that,” Akande said honestly, then turned the open case towards Lúcio. “But I also thought it fair that you experienced my engineering before you agreed to our contract.”

* * *

 Lúcio gasped in astonishment, eyes wide. The prosthetics were unlike anything Lúcio had ever seen, save for Akande’s own arm.

Skin mods had been around for decades, dating back to the last days of the Oil Wars. But they’d never looked as real as the ones attached to these new legs.

Akande touched Lúcio's thigh lightly, drawing his attention back to the enormous man kneeling between his thighs. "I see you appreciate good craftsmanship."

Lúcio flushed, knocking his aluminum alloy ankle lightly against Akande's ridiculously muscled side. "I may not be an engineer, but I know good tech when I see it. How did you design these things in just a few weeks? I've never seen anything like them."

Akande shrugged. "They're based off of prototypes my company has been developing for years. The base models are to be released to the market next month--I merely added a few upgrades and personalized them to your measurements." Akande fixed Lúcio with a serious look. "I would find a more discreet tailor, if I were you."

Lúcio flushed. "It wasn't the kind of thing I thought I'd have to worry about," he murmured. "Somehow I don't think most of my fans are planning on designing me new prosthetics anytime soon."

Akande raised one brow. "Even so."

Lúcio frowned. As...touching as Akande's concern for the safety of his personal information was, the fact remained that the man himself had abused said information to his own ends. "I'll keep it in mind."

Akande nodded, either oblivious or choosing to ignore the souring of Lúcio's mood. He shuffled slightly closer on his knees, resting his hands lightly on Lúcio's calves. "If you permit me, I’d like to proceed now," he said lowly, and Lúcio found his annoyance fading as another hot flush of arousal worked its way through his stomach. Akande's voice was low and rich, a heady mixture that was, frankly, dangerous.

Akande slid his hands ever-so-slowly higher, fingers creeping up under the loose fit of Lúcio's trousers. For all that Lúcio couldn't even feel the touch of Akande's skin against his own, he still found it difficult to keep his breathing even. "Would you allow me the honor?" Akande’s thumbs pressed lightly along the seams where Lúcio's thighs met cold metal.

Lúcio nodded silently, unwilling to trust his voice.

Holding Lúcio's gaze with his own, Akande pressed gently against the buttons on either side of Lúcio's prosthetics. With a small pop, the two metal prosthetics came free, detaching themselves from the integrator bands surgically installed into Lúcio's thighs. Akande set the old machinery gently aside, rubbing lightly at the exposed skin of Lúcio's stumps.

"The calibration process will be intense," he warned, lightly stroking the soft, smooth length of Lúcio's thighs above the skin warmed metal of the integrator bands. "I cannot promise there will be no pain. However, most early users have described the sensations as overwhelming, but not unpleasurable."

Lúcio smiled, challenging, through his pale knuckles betrayed his nervousness. "I'm not afraid of pain."

Akande nodded, retrieving first one leg and then then the next from the case. He paused, catching Lúcio's eye. "My apologies," he said, uncharacteristically subdued. "But the procedure requires that the nearby nerve endings be experiencing as little outside sensation as possible. It creates a sort of neurophysical white noise," he explained, "That interferes with the calibration process."

Lúcio blinked. "You need me to take my pants off?"

Akande chuckled, warm. "I need you to take your pants off."

Lúcio grinned, pressing his hands to his heart in mock shock. "Why Mr. Ogundimu, how forward."

"If you wish to experience inferior results--"

Lúcio waved him off, smiling playfully as he snapped open the buttons on his pants, wiggling his hips to pull them off his body. "And fail to appreciate your work? I'd never."

Despite his teasing, Lúcio internally thanked God that he had opted for one of his more muted pairs of boxer-briefs today. He liked Akande, and he was becoming more and more certain he wanted something romantic with the other man. But they weren't at the stage where he was ready for Akande to find out about the frog patterned boxers just yet.

It was gratifying, though, to see Akande struck dumb as Lúcio shimmied out of his trousers. Lúcio worked hard to maintain his body, especially since he was mutilated by Vishkar. It was always nice to be appreciated. Being under the heated stare of someone as handsome and physically impressive as Akande Ogundimu? Even nicer.  

Lúcio balled his trousers up, tossing them to the corner of the couch. Akande sought Lúcio's eyes, seeking for permission to begin. At Lúcio's nod he picked up the first prosthetic in one hand, cradling Lúcio's thigh gently in the other.

Lúcio watched in silence as Akande went to work, first pulling out small electrical nodes from the socket of the prosthetic and applying them with care to seemingly random points on the skin of Lúcio's thigh. The large man was gentle, handling Lúcio with a sort of reverent care that mere hours ago Lúcio would have imagined Akande incapable of.

The scene echoed of that first dinner-- _first date_ , if Lúcio was honest with himself. But the tone was...different, somehow. That first encounter had been all teasing heat and innuendo. Lúcio had been attracted to Akande, but unsure of him. So Lúcio had deflected, held himself at a level of distance and restraint he felt no need for now.

Because Akande was different tonight, too. Before the man had been imbued with a sort of possessive, dominating heat. Lúcio’s calf cradling in his hand has been thrilling, sure. But it was the same kind of thrill he used to get busting up Vishkar guards--dangerous.

There was no possession in the way Akande handled him, carefully attaching the prosthetics with warm, gentle hands. No danger. Just the reality that this man--this amazing, powerful man--would humble himself to _wait_ on Lúcio. To wash the dishes from their dinner, to kneel barefoot on Lúcio’s floor while Lúcio sat on the couch and relaxed while Akande fitted him with a gift he’d spent weeks and untold resources working on. Akande acted humbly, as if the gift was a simple formality between business associates. But the craftsmanship that had gone into them, the obsessive detail in which they had been rendered revealed the truth: Akande cared for Lúcio, for whatever reason. He wanted Lúcio to be _impressed_ by him, to trust him and admire him.

And as Akande finished the first step of the installation, smoothly locking Lúcio’s new prosthetics into the sockets of his thighs? Lúcio found that he did.

* * *

 As he slid the second prosthetic into place, Akande sat back on his heels and took a moment to admire the fruits of his efforts.

The legs fit Lúcio perfectly--It had been a painstaking process to match the tone of the musician’s skin exactly, seeing how prone photographers were to use films and filters that washed out the rich browns of Lúcio’s complexion. Akande had agonized for an entire day to select the correct pigments, determined that his gift be perfect.

Talon had lost much of its interest in Lúcio, yes. But with the weeks apart and the...disturbing experiences he had had since he last saw the bright man, Akande’s personal fascination had only grown.

( _Something in Amelie Lacroix’s voice had touched him, when she begged him to allow her to leave her husband one more message before Akande took her away. She spoke as if separation from her Gerard would rend her soul. Akande did not think of himself as a sentimental man._

 _Even so, he allowed a message. And later that night, when the deed was done and Amelie Lacroix had been spirited away to some unknowable hole by faceless agents of Akijande’s mysterious organization, Akande’s heart thudded dully as he recalled Lúcio’s brown eyes and wondered what such a love might be like to experience._ )

Akande dragged his gaze up, trailing his gaze leisurely over the smooth, rich brown of Lúcio’s thick hips, the shape of his lithe torso beneath his dress shirt. At last he met Lúcio’s gaze, doe-brown eyes that took his heat and radiated it back at him, confident and unflustered.

Most of Akande’s partners postured themselves with a bent towards submission, assuming Akande would take pleasure in their docility. Lúcio, by contrast, sat straight up on the couch, craning to match Akande’s gaze despite the fact that, even kneeling, Akande towered over him. It was obvious by now he was as drawn to Akande as Akande was to him--Lúcio was simply allowing the heat and tension to build, seemingly assured in his ability to ride the wave when it finally broke over them.

It was confidence that rode on the edge of recklessness. Akande had never been so aroused in his life as he was by this miniscule musician, who held himself with the royalty of a prince even though they both know that Akande could break him like a _twig._

Lúcio’s eyes burned into his. He settled his arms across the breadth of the couch, the fabric of his shirt stretching tight over the musculature of his chest. He cocked a brow. “So, is that it? I’m good to take these things for a test run?”

Akande shook his head, hot anticipation blooming in his chest. His confident little frog would not remain so unaffected for long. “They have merely been installed. We still need to conduct the calibration.”

Lúcio cocked his head, considering. “You said this was going to be intense, right?”

Akande settled his hands on Lúcio’s hips, lightly touching warm skin and the cool spandex of his short boxerbriefs. “Very,” he said lowly, shuffling forward on his knees to lean further into the other man’s space. Akande’s waist broached the vee of Lúcio’s spread thighs, just close enough to feel the warmth emanating from the Brazilian’s smooth skin.

Lúcio’s thighs twitched beneath his palms, belying the unimpressed look the younger man fixed him with. “And you said others have found it…” Lúcio trailed off, cocking a brow with a teasing smirk. His thighs shifted slightly wider, welcoming Akande closer, the imp.

Akande leaned in, close, allowing his lips to brush gently against the skin of Lúcio’s ear. The musician huffed, shuddering lightly, and Akande squeezed his hips, drawing his thumbs firmly against the join of his thighs. “They found it not unpleasurable,” he repeated in a warm huff of air, voice low and soft. “Any... _reactions_ you have are perfectly natural.”

Akande could not see Lúcio’s expression, but he could tell from his tone that the other man was amused. “Uh huh.”

Akande grinned, unable to resist nipping lightly at Lúcio’s ear as he withdrew slightly. He reached down and felt along the slowly warming length of Lúcio’s left calf, prying open a barely visible seam in the skin to expose a small panel. Beneath the panel was a series of four small knobs and two buttons. Akande tapped each knob lightly, drawing Lúcio’s attention to the mechanism as Akande explained the workings of his new prosthetics.

“Mechanoreception, thermoreception, pain reception, and proprioception. Pressure, heat, pain, and kinesthetic awareness. The four kinds of sensors present in human skin, perfectly replicated in the synthetic skin that my family has perfected over generations,” Akande explained, drawing his free hand soothingly along the warm length of Lúcio’s right thigh. “In addition to perfectly mimicking the sensations felt by flesh limbs, the skin warms to match the body temperature of the user. Function can be reduced to save battery life, though the limbs are capable of running at optimal performance for a full week before needing a charge. They are wirelessly charged, and do not need to be removed except for monthly maintenance.”

Lúcio shook his head, reaching down with one hand to feel along the edge of the panel, eyes wide. “You really went all out, huh?” he said softly, marveling.

Akande hummed, pleased. “As I said--a gift. To show my appreciation, and for your trust.” Akande covered Lúcio’s hand with his own, guiding it gently towards the first knob. “We will begin with the mechanical pressure adjustment. I will place my one hand along the skin on various parts of the prosthetics, at various pressures. My other hand will be placed with matching pressure on the skin of your upper thigh. You will adjust the knob until the pressure against your natural skin and the synthetic feel equal. We will then move on to the next calibration.” Akande paused. “There will be pain when we get to the third calibration,” he said, not ungently. “I wish I did not have to cause it to you, but it is necessary. You must be able to detect when the prosthetic is damaged.”

Lúcio nodded in understanding. His free hand tightened on the couch, belying his confidence. “Ready when you are, big guy.”

Akande placed one hand firmly on the top of Lúcio’s left thigh, moving his other hand to the knee of the same leg. His hands almost touched, there hardly being enough of Lúcio’s leg to accommodate the size of Akande’s hands.

Akande ignored the rush of heat through his chest that curled, smoldering, in the pit of his stomach. He had a mission--there would be time to appreciate the look of Lúcio’s thighs under his hands _after_ they completed the procedure.

“Then let us begin.”

* * *

 Fifteen minutes later found Lúcio sweating slightly, nails clawing into the couch as Akande trailed his fingers for what must have been the tenth damn time up the inside of Lúcio’s thigh, mimicking the movement on the inside of his knee.

Cock straining against the fabric of his briefs, all Lúcio could think was that Akande was an insidious _bastard._

Yeah. _Yeah,_ Akande _had_ warned him. But he’d made it sound manageable. Like any other intimate medical procedure.

Not like what amounted to the best foreplay and worst tease Lúcio had experienced in his _life._

The only tiny, _miniscule_ consolation, Lúcio noted as he looked at Akande’s bent neck from between fluttering lashes, was that he wasn’t the only one being affected.

Lúcio watched a drop of sweat work its way slowly down Akande’s neck. He licked his lips as it pooled in the dip between his neck and thickly muscled shoulder. Akande was on one knee, Lúcio’s leg balanced on top of the other. If Lúcio’s legs were only a little longer, he was certain he could manage to press his foot ‘accidentally’ into Akande’s groin, brush against the erection Lúcio knew the man had to be hiding.

Lúcio whined, gritting his teeth as Akande's gentle, trailing touched turn to firm, massaging pressure. Shocks of pleasure pain shot up Lúcio's legs to pool in his groin. Lúcio had to dig his hand further into the couch's abused upholstery, refusing to give into the mortifying urge to palm himself.

He knew Akande was attracted to him. He suspected that this--this exploration of his body, this exploitation of his nerve endings--was an intentional attempt on the larger man's part to drive Lúcio insane. To force him into making the first move.

He and Akande were going to address this thing between them, tonight. It'd been written on the walls, in the thrumming tension of the air even before Akande showed up at his door.

But Lúcio refused to be played like a fiddle, even if he was strung out like one beneath Akande's hands. No way _in hell_ was he moving first.

Akande’s rumbling bass broke through the haze of Lúcio’s thoughts. “I believe that is the end of the first calibration,” he said, releasing Lúcio’s leg and sitting back on his heels. “I need to retrieve some tools for the next step. Please, rest.”

“Gotcha,” Lúcio gasped out, resisting the urge to draw his legs in towards his chest. He felt shaky and overly sensitive, every nerve alight at the rub of the soft suede of the seat cushions against his legs. Akande had been right--trying to keep his pants on throughout this procedure would have been madness.

Lúcio took the break to gather his composure. His skin was free of Akande’s touch, his sense of smell no longer being overridden by the spiciness of the man’s cologne undercut with sweat and arousal. Lúcio closed his eyes, breathing fresh air deep into his lungs and focusing in on the sounds of Akande rummaging around in the kitchen.

After a few minutes, footsteps--much lighter than Lúcio’d guess, based on Akande’s size, but what could he expect from a fellow martial artist--returned, and Lúcio opened his eyes to see Akande kneeling again between his legs. At his side were two bowls--one filled with ice, and the other with steaming water, a dishcloth draped over its edge.

Akande lay a hand on Lúcio’s left thigh, eyes twinkling with devilish amusement. “I hope you enjoyed the break,” he said, pointedly not looking at the tent still obvious in Lúcio’s underwear. “It is time to begin the second calibration.”

Lúcio shut his eyes, nodding resignedly. Inwardly he laughed at himself--temperature play, already? And only their second date.

This guy was gonna _kill_ him.

Akande pressed the edge of an ice cube into Lúcio's skin, eyes fixed on Lúcio's own. Lúcio's eyes fluttered closed, mouth dropping open. Something this simple shouldn’t be sending thrills of cold sensation straight to his groin--the ice was pressed to his calf and the top of his thigh, not anywhere that’s even remotely erotic.

It was Akande’s eyes, Lúcio, decided, forcing himself to pry his eyelids open and meet the man’s steady gaze. Lúcio nodded, fiddling the correct dial until the sensations matched up.

It was the intent in the way Akande looked at him. Akande was pushing him, testing his limits. And the genius of it was that Lúcio had to participate. For each step of every calibration Lúcio was the one with his hand on the dial, the one driving them forward and through. All Akande had to do is provide the stimuli and Lúcio could drive himself right over the edge.

Maybe that was what Akande was aiming for. To break him, to force Lúcio into being the one who takes this into the next step.

Akande picked the washcloth out of the steaming water, wringing it. “This will be hot,” he rumbled, passing a thumb soothingly against the platinum band where Lúcio’s flesh met synth skin.

Lúcio managed a smirk. Akande wanted him to break. Lúcio wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction, not yet. It’d take more than a tray of ice cubes and a hot washcloth to get him dancing to the other man’s tune. “I can handle it.”

* * *

 

He couldn’t handle it.

It wasn’t the pain, Lúcio decided, nails of his free hand coming dangerously close to seriously damaging his couch while he resisted the urge to grab hold of Akande’s wrist and grind the palm of the large man’s hand down on his straining cock.

They had finished with the temperature and kinesthetic calibrations. Now they were on the pain, and. Wow. Lúcio had thought the first two were intense.

It was obvious Akande wasn’t actually trying to hurt him. For one thing, he was working slowly, carefully, pinching Lúcio’s skin between thumb and forefinger only as long as it took for Lúcio to adjust the dial for the calibration.

For the other, if Akande actually wanted to hurt Lúcio? There’d be damage. _Serious_ damage. As it was, all that remained when Akande moved from one calibration point to another was a fading burn and slight redness.

Speaking of which—

“This one will be particularly painful,” Akande warned. “Remember, you must only say the word and I will stop.”

Lúcio settled slightly shaking fingers on the knob, nudging Akande’s side with his knee. His skin was slick with sweat, leaving a damp smear against the doubtlessly expensive linen of Akande’s dress shirt. “Do it.”

Akande nodded, sliding large, careful hands behind Lúcio’s left knee and the up soft skin of his inner thigh. Staring Lúcio in the eye, he gathered skin between his blunt nails, pinching harshly.

Lúcio panted, stuffing his free wrist into his mouth as pain bloomed white hot on his inner thigh, the back of his knee. It radiated out, fading into a red burn, chrysanthemums of sensation seared on his skin.

 _Alright_ , he admitted to himself, staring wide-eyed over Akande’s shoulder as agony struck him dumb. _It was a little bit the pain._

“Five more,” Akande said, soothing across the hurts with the pads of his thumbs when Lúcio nodded acknowledgment “We can go slower, if need be.”

Lúcio huffed a wet laugh against his wrist. He managed to unclench his jaw, pulling his wrist free. His teeth left indents in his skin, so deep he was surprised he hadn’t drawn blood. “I bet you say that to all the boys. Nah, let’s get through it.”

Akande gave him an approving look. Which would have been touching, really, if not for the vicious pinches that followed immediately after.

By the end of the third calibration Lúcio could feel his pulse in his neck. In the periphery of his awareness, on the edges of his mind that weren’t being crowded out by pain and the smell of Akande’s cologne mixing with his own sweat and arousal, he could feel his limbs trembling.

Lúcio was on the verge of shaking apart at the seams, spilling out of himself into the void of space, anchored only by the heat of Akande’s waist between his knees, the warmth of the man’s hand gentling on his thigh. Akande was hovering a respectful distance away, probably waiting for Lúcio to come down to himself.

But that’s the thing--Akande had _stopped_. Except for what felt like a hundred small aches scattered across his skin, there was nothing left of the agony that had whited Lúcio’s brain out into a haze of static moments before.

So why _the hell_ wasn’t he coming back down?

“--Lúcio, can you hear me?” Akande’s voice came as if from underwater, muffled and echoing around weirdly in Lúcio’s head, bouncing around the space the pain had blasted clean and clear.

Lúcio nodded. Or, he tried to nod. He might not have been successful, maybe, judging by the way Akande’s hand left his thigh, floating close to Lúcio’s shoulder in concern, hesitant to touch.

Akande began to withdraw, probably to offer Lúcio space to breathe. The grounding heat of him moved away, leaving only cold displacement and air. Lúcio felt set adrift, like he’d been clinging to flotsam in the water only to be pushed off to flounder the waves unaided.

His body panicked, snapping forward without his consent, arms wrapping around Akande’s neck and dragging the man down to him.

Akande looked back at him, beautiful brown eyes blown wide in surprise.

 _Huh_ , Lúcio managed to think, conscious thought struggling to the surface. Surprise was a good look on Akande. In the part of him that wasn’t occupied with clinging to Akande, to clawing him down, the weight and warmth of him an anchor in the storm, Lúcio decided that it was a look he’d like to see again.

The next thing Lúcio decided was that Akande’s lips looked very soft, and that his breath was warm against his face, and that he would very much like to kiss him.

So he did.

* * *

 Worry and arousal was not an emotional cocktail Akande had ever experienced before. As lithe arms wrapped around his neck and Lúcio pressed his bruised, panting mouth to Akande’s own, he thought distantly that it was one he would need to get used to. Lúcio was as reckless as he was beautiful. The way he dug blunt nails into the bump of Akande’s spine had a fire burning inside him where moments there had been only the icy beginnings of something like fear.  

He’d been concerned, when Lúcio had failed to answer him. Akande’s head technician Kesandu had warned him that such things could happen: dissociation caused by overwhelming sensation in places that had felt nothing for years. He had been depending on the familiar environment of Lúcio’s apartment, and their own smoldering connection to be enough to keep Lúcio anchored.

It wasn’t the first time his own arrogance had played him for a fool, but it was the first time since he’d lost his own arm that he’d felt something this close to panic. Lúcio had quieted throughout the third calibration, gritting his teeth and biting down on his own wrist to muffle the pained noises that worked their way from his bared throat as Akande methodically pinched his skin. Kesandu had warned him that the calibration process reduced most patients to tears--the heightened level of sensation that the prosthetics defaulted to produced overwhelming sensation. The fact that Lúcio had pushed through with no breaks...

Rather than sighing in relief, Lúcio had been mute when Akande announced to him that he’d finished to procedure. His hand had slipped from the knob of his left augment, eyes wet and limbs trembling. Various treatments for shock had raced their way through Akande’s mind as he’d gotten to his feet, trying to give Lúcio room to breath. Blankets, elevating the other man’s legs, fetching something warm for him to drink--he’d been suprised when his retreat was met with resistance, Lúcio lunging upwards to drag Akande back into him, the sudden weight around his neck and relief in his chest staggering him to kneel awardly. His hands flew automatically to Lúcio’s hips, gripping warm skin to steady them both and keep Akande from tipping forward and accidentally crushing the smaller man.

With some difficulty, Akande managed to break the kiss, holding Lúcio firmly as he leaned back to examine the other man. Lúcio glared challengingly back at him, eyes lucid and nails biting Akande’s neck as he attempted to pull Akande back in.

“What gives?” Lúcio panted, lips shining with their mixed saliva. “You don’t want this?”

Akande shook his head, rubbing soothing circles into bare skin of Lúcio’s oblique. “I want anything you will offer to me,” he answered honestly, voice low. “But only if you’re in your right mind.”

Lúcio laughed, leaning further into Akande’s space. “You’ve been teasing me for the better part of an _hour_ , big guy. Now I’m getting mine.”

With that Lúcio shuffled his legs under himself, kneeling up on the couch to reach Akande’s, recapturing his mouth with his own.

Reassured, Akande surged down into the kiss, grabbing Lúcio beneath his thighs and pulling him up into his lap, practically bent double over the couch. The angle hurt his neck, in a distant way, but it was buried under the elation of Lúcio’s mouth, the revelation of the way the curves of him fit perfectly in Akande’s palms. This was victory--Lúcio kissed _him._

Lúcio fit against Akande like he was made for seat of his lap, the sweet curve of his lower back perfect against his palm as Akande pressed the small man closer. His plush lips gave under Akande’s own, breathless whines pulling from him as Akande set to the task to learning every corner of Lúcio’s mouth.

Akande shifted Lúcio in his lap, hard thigh rolling up to knead against his crotch.

Lúcio stiffened, releasing his death grip around Akande’s neck to lay his hands firmly on Akande’s forearms. He pulled back from the kiss, pressing his sweaty forehead against the bare skin of Akande’s collarbone as he caught his breath. “Alright, big guy. Getting a little frisky. Let's take this down a few notches.”

Akande blanched, shifting his lower half back as Lúcio scooted himself back out of Akande’s lap to settle on the couch. “My apologies. We can go slower.”

Lúcio smiled gently up at him, covering Akande’s hand with his own. “I don’t know if I can, right now,” he admitted, blushing furiously. Warm brown eyes shot a significant look at the tent straining Akande’s trousers. “And I think you’re in a similar spot. Might be time to call it a night.”

Akande bit back a groan. Lúcio was so close, and kissing him was intoxicating. But he had never been someone who took what was not offered to him, at least in this regard. Such behavior was that of a barbarian, and a sign of internal weakness against one’s own urges.

So Akande straightened, shuffling back from Lúcio’s bare skin and kiss bruised mouth. “The instructions for your kinetic calibration are in the case,” Akande said, smoothing his shirt in a useless gesture. “You should be able to complete it unassisted. I would offer to help, but—” Akande swallowed, adjusting his collar. His skin felt tight and hot with unsatisfied arousal.

Lúcio’s soft laugh reached him, throaty and warm. “Yeah. I got ya, big guy. I don’t think I can take much more of your hands on me right now without doing something I’m gonna regret.”

Akande nodded, breathing deep as he stood. His knees ached slightly, his back twinging in protest to being hunched for such a prolonged period. He looked down at the cause of his pains, snorting in amusement as Lúcio pulled his slacks back over his legs. “I hope you wouldn’t regret it too much.”

Lúcio smiled up at him, and Akande was struck again by the curve of his lips, the dimples of his cheeks. “One day,” he promised, answering Akande’s unspoken question with easy assurance. “I’m just not the kind of guy who jumps straight into it, ya know?” Lúcio stood, stepping smoothly into Akande’s space. He splayed one hand over Akande’s chest, pressing against his heart. He reached for Akande’s hand with the other, twining their fingers together gently. “Not with someone I really like.”

Akande lifted their intertwined hands, turning them to brush his lips against the smooth skin of the back of Lúcio’s hand. “If you desire to be courted, Mr. dos Santos, I can oblige you.”

Lúcio chuckled at that, upturned face flushing. “I don’t think I’ve ever been courted before, Mr. Ogundimu.”

Akande smiled. “Then the world’s loss will be my pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, content warning for anyone uncomfortable with Overwatch-style prosthetics, aka ones that move in response to the user's body and can feel physical sensation. There's a pretty detailed scene involving their attachment and calibration to one of the character's, and if that's not your thing then you're going to want to stop when Akande and Lucio leave the kitchen. 
> 
> I want to be upfront and say that I do not have prosthetics and have little personal experience with them. The scene in this chapter is based off of speculative science regarding futuristic prosthetics like those shown in Overwatch. If anyone has an issue with the way I've depicted this scene, please feel free to contact me and we can talk about it. If necessary I will revise the scene around suggestions or objections about the content. Thank you for your patience.


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